All Shapes and Sizes
by Albertus Zeno
Summary: "Magic is just science we don't understand yet." -Sharon McCarragher
1. Chapter 1

**To the Masses: **I've only got about a hundred and something writing projects going on right now, but I feel that this HP/Avengers category is still underdeveloped and would like to add my face to this mix.

Soundtrack: In Other Words (Fly Me To the Moon) by Frank Sinatra, Le Grange by ZZ Top, and Party In the CIA by Weird Al.

Warning: AU & OOC (All fanfics are), potential slash, questionable writing, a few holes in logic here or there, and so on.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything copyrighted by other people.

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**Ante-Countenance**

Harry almost never got mail. He'd accepted that ages ago, before secondary schools and before Hogwarts. After he'd started his magical schooling he'd reassessed that notion and concluded that he received regular mail during the summer, but he almost never got mail during the school year. When he was working on his and his own friends secret project all mail was to be delivered through Hermione -because it was less suspicious that way, and he hated it when people asked question that he wasn't required by law to answer.

When the non-descript owl landed directly in front of Harry, his first instinct was to look around and see if anyone was missing their mail. He soon made the connection between the manila folder and he could see no expectant looking muggle-raised children, so he gently took hold of the letter for a clue. Harry's eyes widened when he realized that has his name, printed mechanically, just above Hogwarts dummy address. "Oh," he said, pleasantly surprised. He detached the note with one hand, the other was never unoccupied by a tea cup filled with coffee so long as he could help it. "Thank you," he told the small owl after he'd retrieved the folder, but before he fished out two knuts to reimburse the owl-fueled postal service that forwarded all muggle mail. The owl promptly left after it received payment, which was all for the best because Hedwig was really the jealous type.

Harry's friends kept their distance as he slipped the folder into his canvas bag, and while he scanned the surrounding breakfast crowd for anyone that was paying too much attention or trying too hard to act like they weren't. There were a few curious gazes, but they all originated from his closet house-mates, who knew enough about him to know that mail was an odd occurrence indeed.

When his scan was complete Hermione tried to ask a question, but Ron probably pocked her leg with his foot just as she opened her mouth. The act in itself would rouse suspicion, but not as much as if either were to make any mention of mysterious mail. The last thing any of them needed was for a responsible adult to confiscate his mail and ask those pesky questions. They would get all paranoid and Harry wouldn't get his letter back for who-knows-how-long, and by that time it might even be irrelevant. The return address was one he didn't recognize, but at this point in his education any bit of mail was important.

Ron had sense enough to wait until History of Magic to start scribbling out his many, no doubt endless, questions. Lucky for those of the trio that weren't prone to exercising their self-control, which mostly just meant Hermione, History came just after breakfast on days they didn't have Potions. The ginger used the code that he and his friends had perfected ever since first year, using a combination of doodles, runes from various cultures, and a few of the parseltongue squiggles that Harry had managed to teach both of his friends. He scratched it out in a notebook that Hermione's parents had sent her, which Ron found clever, having all the paper bound together like that but still easy to tear out, and when he was done he slid it over to Harry. The notebook they used to pass messages was so commonly seen every day that none of the other students became curious.

A small Russian letter in the top corner of the page was a key for their code for the day, it meant that it would mostly consist of Russian letters, but the correct letter would actually be the one after the one that was written, Morse code, and just a little bit of Orkhon runes (which Harry detested with a passion). Despite the complexity of the code, Harry translated it easily. They only had five different types of code, which they would pick randomly and just left a little key somewhere on the page, and while that may have seemed a lot to the untrained eye, they had spent a lot of time since first year developing it slowly. There were notebooks in Hermione's trunk from their second year that was laughably simple, containing mostly Latin and little symbols. Back then Professor Snape had been a simple Potions vial, Hagrid had been an extra-tall stick figure, homework was simply abbreviated to 'hw' and so on. Since their methods grew slowly over the years, it came naturally.

Harry read it over before he even had a chance to take the letter out of his bag. When he reached down to get all of the answers to their questions, he did so carefully but wasn't bothered by the noise. If he tried to be as quiet as possible it would show, and someone would notice an obvious effort to remain under the radar. So he broke the seal before he even took it out of his bag, and pulled out the small stack of papers instead of the entire envelope. Their peers were also used to Hermione's parents sending various print-outs of things at their daughters request, which they'd actually asked for to mask what else they were receiving in the mail.

Harry read the first few lines carefully, and then rushed through the rest in an excited mess. He passed the top page over to Hermione first, because she had compulsion issues and always had to know things. She did the excited dance under the desk that she usually did when she was elated about something, which involved a lot of kicking, and passed it across Harry and to Ron. They continued like that until everything was read over twice. Harry didn't have to reply to Ron's note, and he wouldn't have had the chance to anyway, because Hermione had snatched the notebook and was excitedly doodling things.

'An internship! That's amazing,' she wrote, 'You can graduate earlier than planned.' Ron added to the sentiments with an arrow that pointed upwards, which was the simplest way to agree. Harry took a little time to analyze both of his friends, looking closely for signs of jealousy.

They had started their project because Harry got bored at the Dursley's over summer vacation, and it didn't take a particularly observant person to realize that when Harry was bored he went looking for trouble, whether he saw it that way or not. Hermione had set up a way for him to get a self-study muggle education, to which the Dursley's agreed to readily. In his relatives hive-mind, if Harry focused a bit on what was _normal_, maybe he would leave behind all of that stick-waving nonsense. Harry didn't mind, it gave him something to do when he was bored. Of course, Hermione signed herself up for it as well, as her mother fretted after their first year that her daughter wasn't getting as well rounded of an education as she was promised. Ron did it because he didn't want to be left behind, at first. Over time it just became something they worked on in their downtime, and none of them really expected it to go anywhere, but after the fight at the Ministry just two weeks ago, it became an advantage and a back door out of an impending civil war.

Harry hadn't applied to any internships for the summer, because he knew Dumbledore would insist on his presence at the Dursley's. Neither had Ron, because he didn't want to explain to his parents how he got into a muggle program without their consent (Harry was pretty good at signatures. Who knew?) or that he'd been carrying on with it even when he ignored his regular homework. They all knew Ron's mother would probably see it as an extension of his father's obsession with how non-magical things worked, and her disapproval would be loud and probably very soul-crushing. Hermione had, but she hadn't heard back from anyone yet. Whatever she applied or wasn't even worth half of the credits or money that this place was offering.

Carefully, Harry put the papers back in his bag to examine more thoroughly later. When he'd done that, he took up his quill and jotted in reply 'I'm unsure. Perhaps they got the wrong information. Plus, the Headmaster would want me back at the Dursley's.' The symbol for his relatives was the roman numeral for three, because it reminded them of a tiny jail-cell. He had several questions about these people who were all ready to hire him, the greatest being why they decided to send the information directly to the school rather than routing the packet through Hermione's parents.

Hermione's thin brow dropped in thought before she replied 'It's not uncommon for certain programs to recruit, and your scores are very good.'

'Wicked good,' Ron added without reservation. It helped that they all had different focuses. Harry, for example, decided to expand this knowledge of Biology after the incident in his second year. The mystery of lycanthropy only fueled his taste the subject, as did Fleur and her Veela nature, and the all of the other variations of people he'd met in his short life. He wanted to know the difference, the similarities, the way all the different types of DNA worked together or didn't.

This program was offering to let him work in a lab, which would help him immensely. Not to mention it would get him away from everything coated in the memories of his lost godfather. He could do something he actually liked, he could see new places, and according to this packet the lab was actually aboard an aircraft. Reality was the only issue, because Voldemort's threat was very real and Dumbledore was a controlling force in his life.

Ron took the notebook back when he realized that Harry was commiserating in his own mind, and wrote a note that he passed directly to Hermione before he bent to dig around in his own bag. Harry quickly recognized the notes that Ron had been working on that directly translated his parseltongue to it's closest approximation, which was, according to him, something called Kartuli from Georgia. Harry didn't really care, because he already knew the language, but Ron needed to translate it so he could teach it to Hermione so that the both of them could embarrass him about his sleep-talking. Sleep-hissing, whatever.

'It's a great opportunity, and you're not going to get your lab hours any other way,' Hermione wrote, and just above that was Ron's message to 'convince him.'

'I know,' Harry scribbled back, 'it's just Dumbledore.'

'It's not his business,' Hermione argued, and Harry debating about whether or not he should tell them all of what Dumbledore had told him -about blood wards and prophesies. He'd been asked, and they both knew phrasing it as a request was just an empty courtesy, to keep them out of the loop. On the other hand, the two of them stood by him despite three headed dogs, vaguely sadistic chess sets, and Voldemort-infested professors -and that was just first year. Instead, because he knew if he told them outright here would be emotional outbursts, he wrote a promise to tell them later, but Dumbledore had given him some information that was important to the mission -the mission being to survive Voldemort, that required him to follow the Headmasters orders.

'Now Harry,' Hermione wrote steadily, and Harry could just see the 'I can't believe I have to explain this to you, as if you were a small child' type of exasperation she had mastered ages ago. 'It seems a lot like he's only telling you enough to keep you where he wants you.'

Harry didn't reply, but he did shove it underneath Ron, so that he could get a second opinion. Ron gave him the raised eye-brow before he looked down at the note, and his expression turned dour. 'It does,' Ron added, 'he's got you positioned exactly where he wants, and that's a bit alarming.' Coming from Ron, that was most likely a chess metaphor, and he usually believed that Dumbledore was using him. For all of Harry's intelligence, his friends were still a bit bemused that he could be so air-headed.

Harry tapped his quill at the edge of the notebook, staining the last white corner with his favorite purple ink. 'You're probably right,' he conceded, because the Headmasters slow dribble of information had always been a little suspicious. However, he was sure that Dumbledore had the best interests at heart, and he probably did. 'That doesn't mean this opportunity is not unsafe. I don't mean that it could be a trap, but if I'm not where he wants me to be he'll start asking questions.' Both of his friends knew his peeve about inquiring parties and how it was none of their business, but on the same hand if Dumbledore started peeking into Harry's life then he would peek into Ron and Hermione's. Harry could take the snooping, he wasn't keeping any secrets because the parties that needed to know did, but none of them needed their business brought out before the Order of the Phoenix.

'Whatever,' Ron wrote when he got the notebook back, 'I expected my mother to find out ages ago, and now that the Twin's have dropped out there's nothing I can do that would make her more angry with me than she is with them.' It made sense, Harry relented with a tiny nod, and that was really the last excuse he'd been holding on to.

'You'll get your lab hours, you won't have to go back to the III, you get to do what you want to and get paid for it, it's undetectable by the Death Eaters, and you can meet new people,' Hermione listed all of the positive reasons, and under 'cons' there were none. However, Ron then added 'the giant muggle aircraft could crash.' In reply, Hermione reached around Harry and punched their friend in the shoulder.

'That's what parachutes are for,' Harry wrote, then leaned back in his chair to maybe catch the last fifteen minutes of Binn's lecture. There really was no reason he shouldn't, other than that the Headmaster didn't want him to -and doing it despite his orders somehow made him feel empowered. Meeting new people though, Harry's lips twitched in a bit of a frown, he wasn't so sure about that.

**Chapter One**

Doctor Richard Cole was an arse, there was no way around that, Harry thought. The aircraft was amazing, his bunk mates weren't so bad, and he got three meals a day plus all the coffee he could ingest, but Dr. Cole was a dick and had been from the very start.

Apparently the man had gone to the Human Resources department, which consisted of five overworked and underpaid agents, complaining that he did all the work of ten people and he wanted a raise. Instead, he got Harry. Harry the starry-eyed undergraduate student from England that had zero lab experience (he didn't need to know that Harry brewed potions in a dungeon since he was eleven). Harry knew all this because Cole told him. More accurately, he'd ranted about it while pretending Harry wasn't in the room. The man had taken one look at him, literally turned his nose up at him, and set him to work in an out-of-the-way corner with a book called 'Biochemistry for Dummies.'

Harry immediately resented being called a 'dummy.' However, he read the book anyway, just in case there was some small gap in his knowledge. There wasn't.

In return, Harry was perfectly polite. He thought that if Dr. Cole could just see that he was competent then he'd be a bit more respectful, or at least he'd be less hostile. It didn't take long for that theory to be shot down to hell, because the doctor mistook his manners for simpering and became even harsher in his regard to his assistant. Harry didn't know how else to act though. Cole was a bit like his relatives, in that he didn't appreciate having to share the very air he breathed with Harry, and Harry had been conditioned almost his entire life to respond to that sort of treatment in a very specific way. He was a bit at a loss, because while he just really didn't like Dr. Cole he loved his internship.

First, and foremost, because it was on a giant air-craft. He got to look out of various windows throughout the day and see nothing but fluffy clouds and blue skies, and occasionally the darkened beauty of storm weather. He'd started taking his lunch out on the bridge with a tech-head named Wes, just because Harry needed an excuse to stare out the gargantuan windows. He didn't even mind when the Director was there, because he'd met trolls and dragons and some agent named Romanoff that scared him a million times more.

He had to share a room with four other blokes, but that was nothing compared to Ron's snoring, Seamus' drinking, or Neville's sleep-walking. He got to eat three times a day, just like at Hogwarts, and nothing like at the Dursley's. Then there was the coffee, the heavenly sludge of cheap beans made by a coffee-maker that was being held together by duck-tape that Harry affectionately called Queen Adele the Second (the first being his Aunt's coffee-pot). Hogwarts didn't serve coffee, for some reason that escaped Harry, but he had mail-ordered some shamefully expensive beans and the house-elves were only too happy to fill a tea cup with awesome for him at breakfast. Unfortunately, he couldn't drink it often, because his supplies needed to last. On the airship though, on the helicarrier -he needed to remember, there was an unlimited supply of coffee. All day, every day.

So what if Dr. Cole thought he was a stupid, immature sixteen year old who didn't know a beaker from a Bunsen burner? Really, Harry kept telling himself, it was totally worth it.

He was even willing to ignore the obvious military bearing. It was obvious from the name of the organization, but when he'd arrived at the facility in London and been patted, scanned, and screened it really sunk in. When it was all done and Harry had been vetted by the organization's security personnel he was given a small cell-phone, an ID card, his bunking assignment, and told to report to the lab as soon as possible. The big, burly men and elegantly muscular women wore uniforms, carried weapons (usually in concealed places that Harry wasn't meant to notice), and conducted themselves like good soldiers. He'd almost taken a dive off of the launch pad, taken his Firebolt out of his conveniently expanded canvas bag and hightailed it back to the wizarding world the first time the men and women around him had snapped to attention -except then he'd found a break room and the rest was history.

Then he, and a lot of other new bodies, received a memo from Maria Hill, the chief lieutenant aboard the helicarrier, stating that all of those who have not yet received their basic combat assessment should do so or be left behind at the next port -some very questionable waters just off the coast of Thailand, if Harry remembered correctly. It went on to explain that those who didn't pass would just have to take a series of courses before their eligible for the retake. If they failed the retake they won an all inclusive ride back to their home country, and yeah -Harry was nervous. He was an underweight, brittle tower of skin and bones. He was like Jenga, only more wobbly. He knew the standard, because he shared a bunk with four very burly manly-men who could snap him in half. Wes, the tech-head on the bridge was a nocturnal nerd who probably hadn't seen the light of day in ages and only remembered to eat because Harry placed his food right on top of his keyboard, and he was still in better shape than Harry.

Dr. Cole gave him a rather sadistic smirk that morning, before sending him off to his corner to memorize the periodic table of elements, because apparently he couldn't even be trusted to wash the equipment. Cole didn't say anything, but he was also sure that Harry wouldn't even be able to pass. The arse. Like Harry hadn't already committed that entire chart to memory.

Five o'clock that day he was in the mess hall, still sweating profusely, with a large mug of coffee in hand an a sense of failure the size of Draco Malfoy's ego. That wasn't only because he was weighed and measured in front of a large crowd of people, but because he wasn't nearly as flexible, strong, or long lasting as Margaret from the copy room. And Margaret from the copy room had to be at least sixty. He was fast, which was a consolidation, and sure he could render them all useless with the flick of his wand and a single word, but that didn't stop his inferiority complex from rearing it's ugly head.

Just when he was about to go be miserable somewhere else, large breasts sat down next to him. He was sure those breasts belonged to a perfectly nice, probably smart woman, but in a top that low it didn't really matter. He was staring, he knew he was staring, and he even would have turned away if they hadn't just shimmied.

"Better?" a voice asked, and it would have sounded sweet except there was a hardened edge that the most experienced of sarcastic people typically had. Large breasts were soon covered by an even larger, baggy sweater and Harry broke eye-contact. "'Cause that's just about as much pity as you're getting."

"Yeah, lots. Thanks," Harry replied, amusement shining through, and he looked up to meet the actual eyes of a young looking woman who was almost as sweaty as he was. "How did you do?" he asked, his tone was daring her to say it was any worse than he was.

"Yeah, no. I did horribly. I tell you, if failure were personified. I've got like, the best excuse though -if I run too fast I might actually punch myself in the throat with my own boobs," the girl rambled on. Harry nearly choked on his coffee at the imagery that produced.

"I bet you didn't do worse than Margaret from the copy room," he muttered back, just a bit pitifully. His eyes scanned the mess hall and he caught sight of Dr. Cole in the corner, eating with some of the other scientists, and the man was entirely too happy for his liking.

"Dude, don't feel bad. I'm think she does pilates," the last bit was said a stage whisper, as if it were some great secret. "Besides, you'll probably be exempt once they realize you're from the science department. You are, aren't you? Because you look like one of those science nerds, no offence." Harry wanted to find that amusing, but his disposition soured further. "Seriously, I come over here to cheer you up because you're all sad and cute. You're absolutely adorable, but what is up?"

"I'm only an intern," Harry confesses, "and my scientist won't let me be any sort of help, and since I'm not technically not a scientist but S.H.I.E.L.D. still signs my paychecks, so I still have to pass the test."

The young woman deflated a bit too, "Yeah. I have no clue what my scientist is talking about most of the time, and she doesn't have to take this stupid test. Lucky for us though, assistants only have to take the fitness test, and not the hand-to-hand or the tactical-something-something mess."

That was good news, because Harry was sure he would have failed those too. "I just got to make it past Thailand though, and then there's some stop in the Middle of Nowhere, Africa before we land in New York. A week tops. StarkIndustries has funded some super-secret government lab place that a lot of people are being transferred to." The girl turned to one side and then the other, as if looking for someone and when she found that person she pointed and said "That's my scientist, Jane Foster of the Astrophysics."

Harry had heard good things about her. Actually, he'd heard terrible things, about how she was just using some guy named Thor for his scientific knowledge and how she didn't deserve the funding she was getting. Since it was Dr. Cole saying it though, Harry understood that she was working on a controversial theory that apparently had something to do with astrophysics. Harry gave an obvious huff of disdain as he pointed past the girl and towards Dr. Cole, in silent indication that that was his scientist.

He knew just what she saw when she turned around to get a look-see. Cole was tale and lanky, like most of the underfed, workaholics were. His dark hair was standing on end with the collective grease, because no matter how repeatedly Harry suggested it, he wouldn't take a shower more than once every other day. Harry didn't even want to think about how terrible it would be if he weren't banished to his own little space and actually had to breath in that body odor.

"Oh, I've heard wonderful things about him," the girl said as sarcastically as Harry never thought possible. "He's supposed to be the hot-shot researching the Super Soldier Serum and it's relation to Asgardians, and the variation that created the Hulk -or something like that. It's supposed to be some secret, but he blabbed it all out as soon as he could." She informed him briefly, and Harry felt the skin on his neck heat up in anger.

"I've been on the airship-helicarrier thing for almost two weeks and he hasn't even told me that much," Harry hissed, and he was perfectly aware that his parseltongue was slipping out -just a tad.

The girl didn't shrink back though, as so many of his housemates did at the sound of his anger, she just nodded solemnly, "what a dick. My name's Darcy, by the way," the girl said, because they hadn't even made introductions and that was kind of rude of him.

"Harry," he replied, trying this best to sound nice, "I don't suppose you know how even I can get, without getting fired. Do you?"

"Maybe," she said slyly. It was the type of sly that Hermione got when she was withholding just the right information in exchange for something. Darcy leaned in, smirked, and said "if you're up for a little avenging."

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**To Those Who Just Read:**

I just shoved a lot of information out there, and kept a lot of different information back. It's cool, because it's only the first chapter. Yeah?

Feedback is very helpful. If you're going to review, please do so in complete sentences.

Thanks,

Al


	2. Chapter 2

**To the Masses:** It took a little while to get this chapter out because between sleeping and researching the most random things, I kind of just don't feel like it. However, I told myself that I would get something out before I went and read the latest chapter Hurricane by Dark K. Sly (go check it out if you haven't). This chapter has been brought to you by way too much Coca-Cola and Pop-tarts.

Soundtrack: Some Nights by Fun., I Want To Be Free by Elvis Presley (but I like the Jason Lee version), and Another Saturday Night by Sam Cooke.

Warnings: OOC and AU (all fanfics are), pre-slash, eventual slash, mentions of child abuse, one really annoying OC, questionable writing, bad grammar, a few holes in logic, and so on.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything that's already been copyrighted by someone else.

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**Chapter Two**

_"All things are difficult before they are easy.' Thomas Fuller_

Harry's alarm went off at four-thirty in the morning, the alarm that one of his roommates had to help him with when he'd first been given his StarkTech phone. He'd named her Lady Victoria, and even if Harry weren't in the habit of naming his few expensive positions, Wes had told him it was good luck to name his electronics. Also, because she was programmed to accept voice commands and could respond in kind, he felt awkward talking to something that didn't have a name. So Lady Victoria woke him up at four-thirty in the morning, and he was up at such an insane hour because if he wanted privacy in the communal bathroom for their area then he needed to be up before the day shift but after the night shift had finished their bed time routines.

Dobbs, one of his roommates and a light sleeper, had asked what the hell was up with his insane routines, and Harry had explained very logically that on a hellicarrier jam packed with people, he liked to have a moment or two to himself. He was a private person, they understood. Actually though, Harry had a little problem, and one that had plagued him for pretty much his entire life. Harry blamed his father, because if it was anyone's fault it had to be James Potter's. It was embarrassing, because it had to do with his hair, and usually it didn't have to be a secret because he went to a magical school, with magical consequences, magical mishaps, magical quirks, and so on. However, in the muggle world, cocooned my a very secretive, mission based organization, it wasn't a good idea to be the freak who's hair couldn't change. Literally _could not change_, and as a child his aunt had shorn off his hair when it had gotten too long to be decent. Harry remembered very clearly the ridiculous haircuts she'd given him, and he remembered it growing back overnight. Then she'd cut it again, before they'd even gotten a chance to finish making breakfast, and sure, it kept short during the day, but that night it grew back again. So yeah, Harry had really long, embarrassingly curly hair every morning, and every morning he crept into the communal bathroom with a towel over his head and cut it all off. He'd gotten pretty good at it over the years.

Only after it looked relatively normal, the front was a little shorter than it should have been, and he'd cleaned up his mess, took he shower and dressed for the day. Harry tried to look his best while on the job, but the wardrobe he'd collected over the years was odd at best and just wrong in the eyes of the no-nonsense types (like Dr. Cole). His most sensible clothes were those that weren't stained with a variety of inks and animal byproducts or singed, but the vast majority of them were donated by his housemates who saw his cousins hand-downs, Lavender Brown may have shouted 'oh, hell no,' at one point, and outfitted him with a variety of styles, fabrics, and colors befitting their stations. Their girly, or brawny, or too-tall, wizardly, or exotic stations. Whatever though, Harry thought as he smothered the Weasley Wizard Wheezes t-shirt down over his thin frame. It's black and bright orange was toned down by the denims that Hermione had outgrown the year before, and yeah -he liked his plumb colored blazer and whoever said it wasn't he most awesome jacket ever could suck it. He glanced over his hair one last time, smoothed down the lapels of his favorite jacket and left the bathroom with his little bathroom caddy.

He bumped into his third roommate, Charleston, on his way back to their shared lodging and gave the brawny man a nod of greetings. The entire time they'd bunked together neither one of them had said a word to the other, and that seemed to work out well. He was a nice break from nosey Dobbs and the very talkative Wes. After two and a half weeks, he was still just happy that none of them snored. When he did make it into the dimly lit room, barely big enough for the four bunks and four slim lockers, Dobbs was still deeply asleep and Wes was half way off the bottom bunk, also not likely to wake up any time soon. Harry shook his head in amusement, and put his things away as quietly as possible. He took a moment to make his bed, even though he still wasn't subjected to the same intense regulations as the guys and therefore wouldn't be punished for a messy space, in case there was an impromptu room inspection. Whatever it was that they got punished with when their rooms weren't within regulation had no baring on Harry, but he did it because if they had to suffer so would he -in a way of their choosing, and no lack of body mass or cute-eyed expressions would exempt him if they were upset enough. It was just the roommate way. He'd learned that way back in first year when Seamus was blowing up everything his wand pointed at, and Dean had ignited his pants to avenge his lost sheets.

Harry left just as quietly as he did everything else and made his way to the science department. As much as he hated Doctor Richard Cole, the man was still his scientist, and Harry had made a point of checking on him just in case he accidentally exposed himself to anything corrosive or had snapped and started killing off the people that he thought were a waste of space. Also, because it was part of Harry's routine. Everything he did throughout the day was carefully constructed so that his movements could be tracked with expert precision, right down to how he took his coffee. Things needed to be that way, Harry kept telling himself, because in order to get away with a lot of the stuff he was planning, people needed to think he was that simple and predictable. So Harry carried himself to the science department, past the weapons department that he wasn't supposed to know about, storage, and the lab stuffed full of technical analysts that we devoted to decoding something or another that made them all want to rip their hair out. When he reached the biochem lab he punched his number in carefully, mindful that even the smallest burst of magic could bring the system down, and pressed his finger to the print scanner. He was let in as soon as his data was processed and made a bee-line for Dr. Cole's corner.

Harry didn't seem him at first, and he'd walked around the entire island stacked high with things Harry was expressly forbidden from touching, and found the doctor tucked underneath with a sleeping bag and a therapeutic pillow. Harry wasn't very surprised, because the man was very dedicated to his work (though it seemed like he was more dedicated to proving he was smarter than everyone else for the sake of bragging), and it wasn't the first time he'd camped out in the lab when his body just couldn't take it anymore. Harry didn't bother to try and wake him, because according to his calculations the doctor had been about fifty hours without sleep, give or take two, and it was about time he crashed. Instead he walked around to the other side and started shuffling through papers.

Most of the research had already been copied and filed away in Harry's wonderfully, undetectably expanded canvas satchel. There wasn't anything new, except the list of failed chemical combinations had been extended just a bit. Harry dug around in his bag and pulled out a moleskin notebook and his fountain pen, he jotted in the information down quickly before he put everything back exactly the way he'd found it. He brought Lady Victoria out of his pocket and snapped a couple of pictures of the cultures growing just to be sure, and then made his exit. He swung by the little coffee station on his way out, and grabbed up many of the yellow packets of artificial sweetener before replacing them with packets that looked exactly the same.

"Harry," someone called out just before he reached the door. Harry turned quickly to see another one of the scientists had called for him. 'Call me Olivia,' Harry recalled as he approached her work station. He really liked her, he'd decided the first time she approached him in the lab, she was short and stout. No doubt her lower threshold made her sturdy, and despite her age she could probably take on a few of the younger men on board. He'd heard she had before, actually. Wes heard she'd even threatened to spank an agent who had knocked her over and hadn't even stopped to see if she was alright. Her pale brown hair was shot with silvery strands and her skin reminded him of the leathery face of a house-elf. Also, she gave him candy. Little butterscotch candies for days.

"Madame," Harry greeted with a smile. She pulled him into a motherly hug, a bit like the ones Mrs. Weasley gave him, and slipped some candies into his jacket pocket. She took a silent moment to mess with his hair, and he let her because he knew better than to tell the maternal type 'no.' "How are you this fine morning?" he continued in an exaggerated posh-ness that amused her greatly.

"Oh you," she flirted, pushing at his arm playfully before backing off and giving him a bit of space. "You know a growing boy should try and get some more sleep," she teased, like she always did about the 'old folk' hours he kept. Maybe also because he usually looked like death warmed over until he had his first cup of coffee. Honestly though, he was just happy he had retained his English speaking abilities. "Don't you think for a second that we don't know you snuck something into the creamer," she whispered, and even if Cole was awake he wouldn't have heard them.

Harry smirked and shrugged. After his initial meeting with Darcy Lewis, a week ago, it had become apparent that Dr. Cole wasn't very popular even amongst his peers. There were a few scientists that worshiped the ground he walked on, but they were also a bit delusional, and people that had to share an immediate space with him were more than a bit tired of the arrogance. "I think, maybe some milk may have found it's way into the lactose-free creamer. Maybe also the Splenda isn't safe, but I'm sure the sweet-n-low is fine." He and Darcy had agreed that the first strike in any battle of sneaky-sneaky wit should be at the bowels, because the one thing he knew for sure was where and how Cole took his coffee. It was easy because Cole wasn't very quiet at his wants and needs, and he'd blown up at someone else's assistant on Harry's second day because she'd brought the wrong bottle of creamer out from storage and he had 'special needs, damnit.' The Splenda had just been carefully extracted, replaced with salt, and then sealed back up again with Darcy's flat iron.

"Oh, I am feeling a bit like some real sugar today," Olivia replied coyly. Then she turned a bit serious, like she did every time before she addressed a very real issue, "I do wish things had gone differently for you, this summer," she expressed sincerely. Harry knew it wasn't in her budget though, or anyone else's, to keep an intern or assistant. It had been in Cole's because he was the one with the big project and the big government grant. He would offer to help her anyway, because it wasn't like Cole let him do a lot, but the man was an ass and there wasn't any doubt that he'd take it as personal betrayal and report him to HR for not doing his job or doing it terribly.

Harry just shrugged again and kept smiling, "I'm getting along fine, and I'm still getting my credits." He wasn't learning anything though, not yet. He glanced down at his watch, Hermione had found it in the Come and Go room and fixed it up for him as a Christmas present. "I have to get going," tight routine and all. Plus he and Darcy had a standing breakfast date.

Olivia knew that and grinned, because she, like a lot of people, probably assumed he was sweet on his new friend. He wasn't, but that still wasn't the most terrible thing people had assumed about him so he let it go. "You get out of here then, and I'll see you at seven-thirty," like every day, and like every day he would bring her a little something to eat so she didn't have to leave her research.

The mess hall was on the other side of the aircraft and one floor up. It took a bit of navigating, but he found his way there at six, on the dot. He made his way directly to Queen Adele the Second, with her wonderfully duck taped curves and generosity. He dug the thermos that Dobby had given him, so of course it was garish and bold, and filled her up. Only then did he get in line for food, and those who were on kitchen duty stacked his plate high with eggs, biscuits, and sausage gravy like he was a starving, third world child. He grabbed an extra muffin for Olivia, and only then did he look around for Darcy.

Wonderfully curvy Darcy who could cut him to the bone with her sharp tongue, and probably watched his entrance and the proceedings like it was the greatest show in the world. "You're zombie walk is the funniest part of my day," she said as soon as he sat down with his tray. She was already half-way through hers, "They call this S.O.S. Did you know? Apparently it stands for 'Shit On the Shingle.' Doesn't that sound awesome?" she asked sardonically.

"Who gives a fuck?" Harry replied, and oh did he relish the ability to swear at his full potential without Ron or Hermione kicking his shins, "it tastes good. And I don't walk like a zombie." He took a long drink of coffee and his body started to catch up with his wakeful mind.

"Not like the old Vincent Price 'Last Man on Earth' type zombies. You just look like you're sleep walking, except you can have a conversation and actually get shit done." He didn't tell her he'd developed the ability out of need because, since he was a small child, Petunia would wake him up to help cook and clean before Vernon even woke up. Vernon was also the only other one in the house to drink coffee, and if Harry was really good then Petunia would give him what was left of it in lieu of actual food. "Anyway, how's Dick?" she asked.

Harry took a couple of bites before he replied thoughtfully, "seems his lab mates are aware of the little alterations that were made to some of the condiments, but no one seems to be concerned with his discomfort. We can move forward when we get the proper information," which he would need Wes' help for, he knew. He brought his satchel up to rest on the chair next to him and dug through it until he found the proper notebook, 'Marauding' written across the top, and his pen so he could make the proper notations.

Darcy snorted, her whole body was in on it and her chest jiggled just a little beneath her big sweater, not that Harry was looking or anything. "'We,' you are so cute. 'We' like you're not doing all of the work. Jane's fine, because I know you're going to ask. She's all excited for New York, because her hunk of a thunder god is supposed to meet here there. Now that he's got his dad's magic cube of awesome back he can come and go when he pleases, and he pleases to see her in New York in a couple of weeks. So now I get to deal with her staring off into metaphorical space instead of literal space, while she forgets to eat and sleep, and she gets this gooey look on her face -and it'd be cute, except I ain't gonna get any Norse booty so I'm kind of jealous."

Harry just gave her a blank look he donned when she talked about stuff he didn't understand, which was often, while trying to comprehend what she said about a the Norse god of thunder and a cube that was magic. He needed to know if it was actual magic or just really awesome science, or both, because he was a big enough person to admit that sometimes these things crossed paths, and how that would affect him as a magical person. Then Darcy got her rare, but often enough around Harry, look of sadness because he really wasn't following. The first day he'd known her she thought he was joking about his ignorance of pretty much anything pop-culture and technology related. "You really do live under a rock," she said in fascination, and then began telling him what had to be one of the weirdest accounts Harry had ever heard, and he lived with magic.

Darcy told him about how this guy came out of the sky and how Jane had hit him with her van, and how she'd tasered him. Then she'd taken a brief break to mourn her lost taser, because apparently she wasn't qualified to carry one of those aboard so someone had confiscated it, and it had been pink and awesome and also expensive. She eventually got back to telling him about Thor, and actual god of actual thunder from a planet far, far away and how he'd visited earth ages ago and people worshiped his family and friends because of their power. She told him about Thor's great body and his bottomless stomach, a concept that Harry was actually kind of familiar with, and the Giant Metal Man of Fire and Death. When she was done telling him about how Thor got his powers back by sacrificing himself for others, a thought that had Harry's stomach churning, and also how the entirety of S.H.I.E.L.D. is a great big bag of dicks ("They pay well," Darcy says and shrugs, "but I was music deprives for like, an entire day. Also, they took my taser.") she told him about the events that only recently occurred.

An actual, honest to Merlin, the moon, and magic, an actual worm-hole opened and an army of aliens launched an invasion meant to destroy man kind (and probably all the other 'kind' they didn't know existed), and no one in the Wizarding World had a clue. There was something very wrong with that concept, and Harry would get to fixing that when he returned to school, but for the moment he came to realize that people actually knew magic existed. In fact, they were light years a head of the wizarding world in understanding the way of the universe. Harry couldn't help but wonder if someone with a higher security clearance, like the guys who recruited college kids from Britain, knew about him. About his magic and his legacy, maybe even about the bad press he'd got throughout Umbridge's reign over Hogwarts. All of his tremulous thoughts led to the same conclusion, he needed to find some answers to his questions.

"…and then Thor took Loki back to Asgard for some, hopefully horrible, punishment and Jane was reassigned to the new lab opening in New York," Darcy concluded. Her explanation had taken longer than Harry thought it would, and it was about a hundred times more shocking than he'd anticipated, and they were all out of time. As per their agreement though, for every question Darcy answered, Harry had to answer one. It seemed to be a loophole in his previously very solid peeve about questions he wasn't legally obligated to answer. "So, how is it that you don't know _any_ of this?" Harry should have expected that one.

"The boarding school I go to is very specific that we don't have any electronic devices on campus. Absolutely none," he was trying to drive the point home, "So we're late getting any news, and I wasn't so updated before then either." He didn't want to explain that he wasn't allowed any conveniences, not even a real bedroom, because that was a little too much personal information.

Darcy seemed to accept that, and even said "That actually explains a few things," like what, Harry wasn't so sure, but he checked his watch again and he was already running a little late getting back to the lab. Punctuality was very important for his mission. "It's Jane's sleeping day," which is what they'd taken to calling the crash that some of the scientists experienced after prolonged periods of work and coffee, "so I'll see you at dinner?"

"Yeah," Harry said, stacking the trays so he could take both of them, and shoved Olivia's muffin in his bottomless bag. "Cole crashed sometime over the night too. I'm going to try and learn something while he's still knocked out, but I'll be in around six," because that was the routine he'd decided on.

"Hey, maybe you can replace the next batch of Splenda with some sleeping pills. Jane has some. Do you want some?" Darcy asks readily, because she is on his case to do something -anything to get that education he's paying for, not like her because she got her credits and she was just sticking around for Jane, because Jane is her friend. She even tried to report Cole, but the bastard had tenure. Apparently his work with paralytics was really something. Her continued outrage had something to do with Harry actually _wanting_ to be a scientist when he grew up, and he _needed_ to learn all the stuff Cole wasn't teaching him -Harry's brain halted, mid-thought.

"Wont she notice they're gone?" Harry didn't flat out ask why she had them, but even though he'd never met the woman it didn't sound like something she'd take. Just two days before Darcy was complaining that Dr. Foster hadn't even noticed she'd been awake for over thirty hours. So maybe they were hers.

"She doesn't even know she has them," Darcy shrugged and said, "the medic bay hands them out to scientists like candy. You have to requisition them though, so your name would be on the list, but I can get you some of hers."

"You drug your scientist?" Harry continued to press, but he couldn't be all that surprised. She'd already admitted to snorting Ritalin.

"Only after the three day mark, then she's really unreasonable so I just mix some in with her coffee," Darcy explained as if it were perfectly normal. Harry didn't know, but maybe it was, he just hoped he never got to that point and people didn't have to drug him. "Oh, I'll get the trays today, you're already running late."

Harry took off quickly after that, and took an unused passage. By that he meant that he stuck into a supply closet and crawled through the air-ducts, which were much more straight forward than the labyrinth of bays and stairs. The hard part about living on the hellicarrier was actually that the stairs didn't move and the doors didn't appear and disappear depending on their moods. He enjoyed sliding through the thin metal tunnels though, because it reminded him a bit of the narrow passages through out the castle, mostly because they weren't occupied by other people. He made it to the storage room only one lab over form where he needed to be, without alerting anyone to his position and just in time to meet Olivia at seven-thirty with her chocolate muffin.

"You spoil me," she said as soon as he handed it to her, and it was kind of like a 'thank you' but better. Before he moved away, back to his own corner in the back of the lab with his latest 'for dummies' book she took him by the elbow, "now the most important thing about lab work is to make sure your drink hasn't started to grow mold. You would think it would be to wear appropriate clothing, you'll have to lose the jacket by the way, dearie, but you would be surprised by how many people don't even notice they're drinking from three-day-old mugs. Is your drink clean?"

Harry grinned and held up the bright green mug adorned with purple hippos in pink tutu's. "Good," Olivia continued, and so started Harry's learning experience.

Hours later he finally broke for lunch, not at all late according to his schedule, and took two servings of the days lunch. Burgers and crisps, Harry thought a little happily, as he entered the observation dock and made his way to Wes' station. Like usual, he wasn't really working, but Harry was good at pretending that was just because he was on his lunch break. "Yo Potter," Wes greeted when the food was put directly in front of him. "How goes the day?"

"Pretty good," Harry replied, already admiring the days view -bright blue and cloudless. "Yours?" he asked, even though Wes' answer was always just a shrug, and they dissolved into useless chatter while they ate their lunch. Wes was under no delusions, he knew why he was the only one the kid took lunch with was because of the view, and it was an awesome view. Half-way in Harry didn't respond to something right away and looked to be contemplating something. "I was wondering if you could do me a favor?" he knew his expression was innocent enough.

Wes paused mid chew, his rigid cheek-bones were set oddly. Then he nodded and swallowed. "Sure," he said sarcastically, "what's the worst that could happen?" Harry didn't argue, but he did give him a pitiful look, "look, I know you're not as nice as you come off to be…because frankly, you talk in your sleep. Sometimes it's English, and when it's English it's pretty nefarious stuff, and whatever this favor is -which has to be risky because your coming to me, the computer guy, but sorry, I can't tell you."

Harry pouted. He'd had Ginny teach him in his third year because it seemed like a solid plan to get Ron and Hermione to stop arguing long enough to give everyone's sanity a rest. "I just wanted to know by boss' bunk number."

Was dropped his voice and asked dramatically "are you sleeping with him?" then corrected himself, "that can't be it because he would have told you himself. Plus I know the dude you're talking about, and that's some gross shit. Wait, you're not going to kill him are you? Because I heard some stuff…"

"What stuff?" Harry asked seriously, and usually he wouldn't care because the press had pretty much beat all of his fucks away, but he really need to know if someone was on to him.

Wes looked a little guilty at first, "Well, not like we were talking about you or anything, but I had P.T. with Charleston this morning and we were just hanging when some guys from R&D department were talking about how someone from the biochem lab and that girl with the big boobs, which was probably that one girl that works for Thor's girlfriend, because she has an awesome rack, were sneaking around. That had to be you, because I saw you guys in the gym together -also, sorry about your physical failures dude, and then the guys from R&D said something about how that guy that is actually you is an asshole. Dude, you need to start talking to people more, because this recluse-thing you've got going on comes across as kind of…not-you, and vaguely homicidal. It's bad enough Agent Romanoff is wondering the halls with her ready-to-kill skill set. Obviously I don't think that, I know you're just a nerd."

Harry was starting to think that all Americans were as talkative and disjointed in their conversations as Darcy and Wes. "No," Harry answered slowly, "I'm not planning on killing him. I just want to short-sheet him, or put dye in his shampoo, and things like that." It was technically the truth.

Wes still looked skeptical, "why don't you just access the public registry, it's right there on your phone," Harry counted to three and realization dawned on his bunkmate, "Oooh, it's on your phone. Here, hand her over and I'll show you how to get to it."

Wes did, and when lunch was over Harry returned to the lab. Unfortunately for him and the rest of the biochem department, Cole was awake. Harry traded one long suffering look with Olivia as he passed and instantly retreated to his corner. Upon arrival he asked, like very day, "is there anything I can do for you?"

"Yeah," Cole grunted, his voice was like gravel along broken glass because he smoked at least a pack a day and probably had for a really long time. Harry was surprised, and anticipated being allowed to do at least something small, of being some kind of help. Dr. Cole was measuring something with a disposable pipet, and even the smallest of mistakes could be hazardous, so he forgot to finish his sentence for a moment. When he was done he turned his dark eyes to Harry, "you can get the fuck out."

As shocking as that was Harry should have expected it. Cole hated him, possibly more than Snape did. Considering Snape hated Harry because his father was a bully and caused significant emotional trauma, and Cole just hated him because he was Harry, it seemed very possible. He didn't even notice that the room had gone silent until he was half-way back to the door and his favorite lady-scientist every, Olivia gave him a mournful look. Somehow that only made things worse, and the rejection he felt was padded with humiliation and other sad-like feelings.

He left, and went straight into the supply closet. It was kind of like his cupboard under the stairs, and he felt a bit like he did back then. Like a freak, a worthless freak who couldn't do anything right. He had been on top of the world. He met new people like Hermione thought he would, and yeah -it was hard, but Darcy was nice and so were his roomies. He had his things, he patted his bottomless bag, no one had taken them away. He was literally in the sky, and flying was always the most fantastic thing. That was all brought crashing down around him at six words. 'You can get the fuck out,' rang around his mind like the very first Potions class, like Lockhart dragging him in front of the flashing cameras, like no one believing him. The loud silence, like Cedric's death, like the awkward silences surrounding his entire childhood, like the blood quill in the pink room, and like Sirius falling through the veil. It all came rushing towards him with that one solid rejection, like that was just the last straw that broke his back and he did the only thing he ever was any good at, and fled. He stood, the strap of his bag digging into his shoulder, and he climbed back into the air-ducts that were small and dark and made him feel just a little bit better.

Cole was going to pay, maybe not in the way that Harry had initially intended, but he would. He needed to scout the mans room out, he reminded himself as he wiped his face with the back of his hands. They were moist, and he'd already promised himself he wouldn't cry. He just needed to do his job, and that, at the moment, was to make some cocky bastard sorry for everything.

Two floors up, that was where the individual rooms were kept, reserved for the higher ranks and apparently a few, select scientists who were really important. The security was also a little tighter, and Harry didn't know why they thought they'd need them, but apparently there were little cameras in the ceiling. He'd recognized them after the first one, which he'd shorted out with the little touch of his magically charged finger. It took only a moment to slip his Invisibility Cloak out of his bag, because it had it's own easy-access pocket, and he slid into the slivery fabric easily. He didn't think to check the integrity of the structure, because all of the other ducts were reinforced, which was odd when he thought about it. They were reinforced like the designer had expected that they'd need to carry the weight, and where there were cameras there was no extra support. Harry hadn't really known that until he fell through the ceiling. I did have the added bonus of shocking him out of his emotional things.

"Oh fuck," he screeched as he fell, just before he hit the floor in an underweight pile of sadness. "Not good, not good at all. I am so fired. They're going to leave me in Thailand, and I'm going to have to walk back to the Dursley's, and they'll lock me up, and oh fuck," he muttered all the while he stood and noticed that the room was occupied. Occupied, he assessed, by someone with a lot of tubes wires also sticking out, and very much awake.

"Who are you?" the man inquired in an impressively stoic manner. Perfectly stoic, in fact, Harry thought. "You're covered in plaster dust, so I can see your outline," the man continued, as if Harry were even thinking of running away -which he was.

Harry huffed, and glanced at the door. There was one of those electric key pads that indicated someone would need a code to get through, a code Harry most certainly didn't have. He could try to get back into the vent, and just go back the way he came, but the man might call security to block off all of his exit ways. Finally, when all mental avenue's were extinguished, Harry let the cloak slide off, his face was already heated with embarrassment because he got caught and because he knew his eyes were probably red and puffy from the unwanted emotional intrusion. "I don't want to be fired.," was the first thing he said.

The man just looked at him blankly, and then, as if he were speaking to a small child, said slowly "English, please."

Harry recognized the tone as the one his house-mates at Hogwarts used when spoke in parseltongue, because it all sounded like English to him. Harry slowed his mental chatter and did his best to concentrate on the man, on the contours of his face, his neat hair, the vein of frustration in his neck, and then said again, "I don't want to be fired."

Realization dawned, but only with a small release of tension just between the mans eyes. Most people wouldn't have noticed, but Harry had learned to recognize certain facial cues when he was still very young. "You're not authorized to be up there," the man said and Harry wondered what kind of person _was_, "and I'm certain we can come to some kind of agreement." Harry didn't reply, it was at this stage people started asking questions Harry usually refused to answer, then a punishment. "Have a seat," the man said, indicating the uncomfortable looking chair at his side.

Harry did as he was told, clutching nervously at his cloak and bag while thinking 'this got out of hand quickly.' Then he wondered why S.H.I.E.L.D. would keep an injured man in his own quarters, and not in med-bay. The chair was just as uncomfortable as he thought it would be, and he quickly shoved his cloak back into it's designated pocket. If the man was important enough to be kept away from the average injured persons, then he must have been very high in the ranks indeed, or an insanely dangerous criminal, which meant that Harry probably did have to answer whatever questions the man may have. Then again, if they knew magic existed, it might not be so bad. Or it could start a new wave of Witch Hunts. Yeah, Harry didn't want to be that guy, the one that exposed the entire Wizarding World to trials and executions.

"Where did you get the electronic reflective cloak?" Because of course the man was going to ask where he got fabric that could cloak his entire person.

Harry fidgeted in his seat, "It's not really, whatever it is you said, and I'm not comfortable with saying," he replied honestly, then continued while trying to be a little more truthful, "it's was my fathers, but I don't know where he got it." The man didn't look convinced. Then again, he didn't look much of anything.

"Tell me why you were in the air duct," he said next. Harry knew it must all look horrible. He was invisible and sneaking through their really high-tech base.

"Uh," Harry began, because he really didn't like it when people wanted information from him, but he also really didn't want to spend the rest of his summer at the Dursley's or being subjected to any sort of interrogation from Dumbledore. "I got this internship with Doctor Richard Cole, but he hates me -I'm sure. I also don't appreciate being treated…well, the way he's been treating me, so I was looking for his bunk, so that I could -you know," dear Merlin, he was becoming a rambling lunatic like Darcy, "leave some Nair in his conditioner," Dobbs had been the one to explain that, and he'd even had a little jingle to go along with it, "or something. I got his room number off the register, and I thought I would just scope it out a bit -because he kicked me out of the lab about," one glance at his watch told him he'd been wondering the vents for a bit longer than he'd anticipated, "about an hour ago." He really didn't want to get sent back to Surry, and he really did want to actually graduate.

"You're the college kid from the biochem department," the man said, sure in his words. Harry wondered if everyone had heard about him, because frankly -he thought he'd kept a lower profile than that. "You were hired to help Cole in his research, not hinder it by playing juvenile pranks."

That didn't sound like something a criminal would say, so the man was just really important. Harry's face heated radically at the reprimand, "I know," he said in a soft, guilt ridden tone, "but it's not like he's doing his job right, either way." He wanted to prove himself, because the terrible rejection by an even worse man was still tearing at him a bit. He reached, elbow deep into his bag, not even bothering to mask the fact that he shouldn't be able to by gently shuffling through the top layer, and he pulled out the moleskin notebook he kept his science notes in. He opened it somewhere in the middle, and he flipped through the pages with one hand while he drug the chair closer to the bed with the other. "Here, he spent two days testing regular potassium with metal compounds, when it should have only taken half an hour to run the equations. Obviously it would not have been this cluster here -see the little Er, that's Erbium and the temperature it would take to sustain a liquid form would melt someone from the inside first, and then likely crystallize their insides…"

The man let him talk on like that for a while, and he seemed to be paying attention because he didn't get that glazed over look that Ron and Hermione, or even Darcy got when they didn't understand. After only a few minutes he actually took hold of the notebook and Harry invaded his personal space so he could point to what he was talking about. Then the notebook snapped shut in mid-sentence, and the man turned to Harry. "You had better be sure," the man warned. Harry swallowed the nervousness that tried to choke him and managed to nod. The man leaned back and let out a heavy sigh, as if it took all of his energy to sit up right while Harry had been talking, and it may have. "You'll have to wait until the nurse comes by to get out," which Harry supposed meant that the lock on the door was to keep him inside. Insane criminal was back on the plate as Harry took his notebook back.

"I'm Harry Potter, by the way," he said nervously, all though it may have been a mistake to let the man know. It wasn't like it would be all that hard to track down the skinny boy who worked for Cole though.

"Agent Coulson," the man replied with authority. So really not a criminal, unless he was lying.

They sat in awkward silence for a moment before Harry asked, "would you like to play chess?"

* * *

**To Those Who Just Read:**

This chapter was actually supposed to go much longer, but then again…it is three in the morning.

For those of you looking for more fics to read, and even if you aren't, go check out the series 'In Which Tony Stark Builds Himself Some Friends (But His Family Was Assigned by Nick Fury)' by scifigrl47 on Ao3, and also the series of accompanying one-shots called 'Phil Coulson's Case Files of the Toastervserse' by the same person. They're better than amazing.

I like quotes, song suggestions, and reviews.

Al.


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